


42% Clarity

by TAScorpio



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Awkward First Times, Badass skills, Blood, Feels, Guns, I promise, I'll probably add more tags as this goes on, Killing, Kissing, Multi, My First Fanfic, OH YEAH THIS TAKES PLACE IN A DIFFERENT TIME, Other Adultery, Swords, There is meaning in the title, This Is STUPID, Weapons and stuff, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombiestuck, whoops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-01-24 11:06:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1602932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TAScorpio/pseuds/TAScorpio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a rumor that you were released early from school on the 3rd day because of some kid acting ill and cannibalistic...  Epidemics of this so called "Cannibalism" were breaking out all over the globe, but no one knew it would grow to such a threatening level, not even YOU.  But then it was at your front door, fires breaking out, cars crashing, people screaming and dying.  How did this happen? Are your friends okay? Will you all SURVIVE?<br/>You must make it to the safe haven together, alive, and in one piece.  THAT is your MISSION.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ACT 0 ACT 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! This is Al, or TAScorpio, and this is my first work, as a tag gives away hehe ^^"  
> I was inspired to write this by my-friend-the-frog on tumblr, the creator of the Zombiestuck AU! It's not going to be like her version, but I'm gonna try my best to make it half-way decent! This is my first time posting my writing online, and I really hope all of you wonderful beauties like it -u-  
> Please forgive me if it takes a WHILE to update... I only wrote the first prologue at this point, and I'm working on the rest of the story and such. It takes a bit to motivate me sometimes, and editing and looking over takes a bit too... sO ENOUGH OF MY RAMBLING!  
> Enjoy, friends~!

**Date:** August 7 th, 2046

 **Time** : Approx. 2:18 p.m.

 **Location** : Houston, TX

 **Day** : Day 0

 **Outbreak** : Class 2 – Worldwide

 

 

Embers fluttered through the wind peacefully, being carried throughout the dysfunctional, ravaged city of Houston, Texas.  The relaxing, unusual breeze was extremely misleading and provides little to no comfort to you in the heat of the afternoon sun.  Nothing really is the same anymore since sunrise, you remind yourself mildly.

 

            The strong scent of smoke filled your nose as you took another much needed breath.  You cough.  Who are you kidding here?  There’s smoke no matter where you seem to go.  All you can really do at the moment is try to get back to your apartment safely without getting injured, or even killed.  Your sharp, bloody samurai sword rests on your right shoulder lightly and glints bright glare from the sun as you wander cautiously.  All was quiet, given the few cars that were screaming their alarms in the distance.  There was a surprising lack of activity for all of the panic having taken place earlier in the day.  You suppose most of the people ran into their homes to escape; it would be the average response from the average person.  No, everyone who’s sane and still alive did that, including yourself.  The only reason you were out in the open was to do just that; to get home.  Sure, you could have stayed in the building harboring your summer job, but important people like yourself have priorities!

 

            As you walk down the once bustling streets, you notice dead, disemboweled, and/or dismembered bodies littered all over the city.  Some cases are particularly gruesome…  As you pass a body, or what used to be one, you stop momentarily to absorb the reality of it.  The victim appears to be female, her age undeterminable due to the damage.  Her neck appeared to have been gnawed down to the spine, some of the creamy white bone very visible and engraved with deep teeth marks.  There were sizeable chunks of flesh missing from various places on the body.  The left arm, at the shoulder, was almost entirely detached from the body, only hanging on by a few small, torn tendons.  There were other wounds and gashes varying in size clawed all over the victim, making the scent of death and decomposition much more vulgar.  Despite the bit of age and rotting since death, blood still flowed from the woman’s neck and arm in very small increments.  It appeared to be clotted and sticky, crusting around the lesions in deep reds and blacks.

 

            You furrow your brows and scrunch your nose in disgust, striding away.  Your left hand comes up to your forehead and wipes lightly, then after falling back to your side loosely.  When your hand left your face, your vision hones in on the site of your apartment complex nearby.  You hadn’t noticed how far you’ve come; you figure you were too focused on other things to even begin to notice until just now.  With the door approaching fast, you dig your hand into your pocket to gather your keys.  As you step up to the door and insert your key, you take quick glances to the side and twist the key, unlocking the door.  The building is entered silently and the door shut in the same manner.  Everything looks…

 

            Completely _normal._   Just like any other day.

 

            Not even any signs of previous struggling.

 

            As you climb flight after flight of stairs, you hear distant, crying from what you think is a young girl and a man yelling in frustration in response.  You shrug.

 

            _Not my problem._

After a few more seconds of walking, you get to your apartment and swiftly enter it without any trace of your presence.  You nonchalantly place your bloodied blade on the nearest counter.  It’s only then that you realize just _how_ dirtied your weapon is.  Your gaze shifts up the entire blade, taking in every detail, and you make a note to yourself that you’ll _really_ have to clean and polish it later if given the time.  A small sigh escapes your parted lips as you walk over to a nearby window and rest your weight on it lightly in analytical thought.

 

            _How did things suddenly get this way, and so… Fast?  Such chaos in a matter of hours…_

 

            The view from your window to the hell wrought below is eye opening to say the least.  It’s a total bloody, fiery mess down in the city streets of Houston on this would-be normal summer day.

 

            Your name is _DIRK STRIDER_ , and you’re starting to believe that this is only the beginning.

 

 

_ In the future, but not by much… _

 

 

 **Date** : August 9th, 2046

 **Time** : Approx. 9:57 a.m.

 **Location** : Houston, TX

 **Day** : Day 2

 **Outbreak** : Class 2 – Worldwide

 

    Your name is _JAKE ENGLISH_ and you know for a fact that zombies are the best shooting targets to ever curse the Earth!

 

            Even though that’s one really hard thing to take as an ‘up-side’, you’re having a hard time getting used to it, no matter how much you try to rationalize it.  You’ve been stuck in the bloody building for at least three days and it was damn near god awful.  If you expected anything from a zombie apocalypse, it was definitely more than this.  It was more like adventure, adrenaline rushes, facing danger in the face- maybe even some sort of a goal so this whole “murder every dead thing you see ‘till it dies” thing actually has a point.

 

            Not that this catastrophe has anything remotely close to an up-side of any sort.  You’re really trying your darndest to be optimistic here!  That’s a really high goal to set yourself, but it’s the best you can do so you don’t lose your somewhat fragile sanity and become… well, so you don’t break yourself, to be put simply.  Sanity was vital for such a case, after all.  It’s not like suicide rates were dropping anymore at this point.  A sigh.

 

            You pull out your half-dead phone and unlock it with a slide of your thumb.  Nothing.  A quick glance for surveillance is taken and a message hastily sent.  Will there even be a reply?  Maybe, maybe not, but the chances were still highly in your favor.  Either way, you’re heading out, Class 2 outbreak or not.

 

            Right as you were about to grab the doorknob to the second floor room, your phone vibrated in your pocket.  That was… faster than anticipated.  Before you decide head out, you check said device eagerly; you were having second thoughts on leaving the building already.  You open Pesterchum and read the message, hoping for a decent reply.

 

 

**\--golgothasTerror [GT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] RIGHT NOW--**

GT: Where are you mate?

TT: What do you mean where am I? I’ve been stuck in my apartment for a few days.

GT: Stuck in your apartment? Are you fairing alright??

TT: Yeah, I’m fine.  I’m just not sure it’s a good idea to go outside alone at the moment.

TT: Don’t do that.

GT: Aw, why not? *frown*

GT: Do you think i’m not up to the task?

GT: I have a gun i can protect myself perfectly fine! We came here to meet up right?

GT: I’ve been stuck here for 2 days strider i’m not staying trapped here any longer!

TT: You’ve been in Houston that long and you decided it was a good idea not to tell me?

TT: Thanks, that really contributes to my fantastic mood, dude.

GT: I’m sorry I forgot! *kicks stick on the ground*

TT: Just

TT: Forget it. Where are you?

GT: An old tavern i think

GT: Or at least what used to be one

TT: The street name.

GT: How should i know?!

GT: It’s not like i live here

TT: Do you at least know the name of the bar then?

GT: Longhorn’s Tavern, i believe

TT: So you’re a 15 minute walk away.

GT: I am?

TT: Yeah, basically.

TT: How do you want to strategically go at this then?

GT: I could easily do it myself

TT: Yeah, I’d enjoy seeing you take a gander at navigating expertly through foreign territory.

TT: Oh, by the way, there also might be flesh eating zombies at your every turn.  Thought you’d like to know.

GT: …you don’t have to be an asshat about it you know

TT: You know you like it, English.

GT: Kicking christ, do  we seriously not have a legitimate plan discussed

TT: We’re going to meet halfway.  It’s only logical.

TT: That would be the most tactful way.  We wouldn’t have to be alone any longer than completely necessary.  In this sort of situation, you have to avoid being alone as much as possible; that sort of thing will make you an easy target.

GT: That’s a brilliant idea!

GT: Just tell me where to go

TT: The bar you’re inside of is literally on the same street as my apartment complex.

TT: Longhorn’s is just a mile or two down the street. That’s it.

GT: Are you serious?

TT: As a heart attack.

GT: …I’ll start walking then

GT: See you in a jiffy!

TT: Do you even know which way you’re going?

GT: …

TT: When you exit the doorway, go left towards the inner city. All you have to do is walk forward; no turns, curves, nothing.

GT: Right-o! Thanks, chum!

TT: Just remember to think next time. And be careful.

TT: Don’t talk to strange dead, walking, human-like things that groan a lot and try to eat you.

GT: Gee whiz strider, i get it stop joking around i’m not some kid

TT: You kind of are.

GT: Oh whatever, yeah yeah

GT: Bye for now!

TT: See ya.

**\--golgothasTerror [GT] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT]--**

 

TT: Don’t get killed.

**\--timaeusTestified [TT] logged off--**

            Phone shoved back into your pocket, and gun ready in its holster, you make your way down to the main bar area.  You try to breathe silently as not to give yourself away in the shade of the room.  As you take final observations of the room, you note that none of the windows are broken.  One is cracked, but it’s nothing to get concerned about.  You navigate around the chairs and tables and arrive at the cracked window.  Getting past the harsh glare, you look outside warily, scanning for potential reanimations.  All you seem to pick up are idle, motionless bodies on the heated cement of the street.  Blood was spattered all over the streets, possessions littered around, and murders of crows flocking to the ground.  The jet black, large birds rummaged and pecked at the lifeless bodies mindlessly, cawing loudly at any rivaling birds.

 

            You back away from the window and shake your head, still trying to get used to the scene still awaiting you outside.

 

            Swallow.

 

            Inhale.

 

            Nervously, you push open the door.  Sunlight stings forest green eyes.  You wince but try to force open your eyes hastily as to keep aware of your surroundings.  Through your small view of your surroundings, you see only what you had seen through the bar window.  As you take light-footed steps down the barren, ruined streets, crows fly off to perch on street lamps and your right hand grips the gun holster readily on your thigh in a firm hold.

 

            Time felt slowed, streets longer, and senses stronger.  Now that you were paying closer attention, you notice just how rancid the odor is outside.  The stench carried in the wind and was intensified by the heat of the Texan summer sun, as well as the humidity.  It was strong and sour, and smelled like a mix between death, sweat, and a noticeable amount of sulfur.  In an effort not to gag from the combination, you tried to rely on your mouth for breathing which is a task easier said than done.  Mighty hard to keep quiet that way, but you told yourself it would have to do.  You must. _Stay alive._

 

            “How putri- …d.”  Your whispered complaint was cut short.  A low, strangled moan sounded to your left, accompanied by slow and heavy-footed shuffling.  You are frozen in your tracks, the grip on your gun tightening and trembling.  You turn your head slowly and see the creature across the street, stumbling slowly over debris in its path to you.  It saw you.  You were being hunted.

 

            _Snap out of it, Jake!_

            You stumble backwards and slam against the nearest wall, gaining a sharp pain in your left shoulder.  Fumbling for your pistol, you start to shake and realize you’re starting to panic.  The sleek handgun falls to the sidewalk with a harsh _clank_.

 

            “G-god dammit!” you hiss loudly, grabbing for the dropped weapon.  The safety is flipped and the pistol pointed with both hands gripping it for dear life.  The creature was only some two meters away now, its moaning more eager and daunting.

 

            Fire.

 

            _Shoot._

_Pull the bloody trigger, Jake!_

_Hurry before it’s too late!_

A gunshot echoes throughout the nearby city area.  The dead body falls to its final rest, deceased at last.  Blood spatters on the ground and drains sluggishly from the fatal gunshot wound in the zombie’s skull.  The surrounding air becomes more intoxicated by a new addition of death, nearing an unbearable point.  A new scent, however, filled the air, one better known in relation to prey; _fear._

 

            You never thought you’d know the smell.  You never knew you’d be so **_afraid_**.  Sniffing, you stand yourself up to full height again and slide your pistol into its holster carefully.  It was hard to keep your breathing at a normal pace; you found yourself gasping for air, deep and slow with the wall of the building giving the whole-hearted support that you so desperately needed at the moment.

 

            “Jake..?” A deep voice called your name questioningly.  You jerked yourself off of the wall rapidly, fists up just as fast in self defense.  The man who had called your name looks a good few inches taller than yourself and has styled, but somewhat spiked blond hair.  He’s wearing these absurd triangle shades that look like they’re from one of those weird Japanese anime shows.  He also sported a black tank with an orange hat symbol on it and some slick black skinny jeans, looks like.  This guy isn’t Dirk, is he?  All the man did was stand there with solidity and silence, one hand in a pants pocket and the other grasping something on his back.  Apprehensively, you lower your fists to your sides.

 

            “Uh… Dirk?”

 

**-End ACT 0 ACT 1-**

 

**== > ACT 0 ACT 2**


	2. ACT 0 ACT 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ey guys! I'm kinda embarrassed to 'show my face' around here, seeing as last time I touched this piece was about 2 months ago. I kept beating myself up to finish it, but apparently I'm a sadist cause it didn't work?? AHEM. Either way, I'm terribly sorry if you were actually reading this and looking forward to it, but it's here now! I apologize for the long wait, and I'll *try* to update faster in the future! I hope you enjoy, lovelies :3

** Act 0 Act 2 **

 

 

 **Date** : September 5th, 2046

 **Time** : Approx. 11:27 a.m.

 **Location** : Maple Valley, WA

 **Day** : Day 0

 **Outbreak** : Class 0 => 2

 

 

    As soon as you stepped out of the entrance to school, you could have sworn something had felt a bit different than normal.  That is, other than the fact that school just dismissed early today.  The weird thing about this sudden early release is the sole fact that no one knows why; the teachers refuse to relay any information to any of the student body.

 

            “Talk about suspicious…” you mumble to yourself enigmatically as you walk over to your bike still in its proper slot in the bike rack.  Your knees fold as you bend down to unlock your bike.  The lock safe in your backpack, you stand up tall and the wind howls, messing up your already erratic hair.  Though, it feels very… free?  Was that even a way to describe it?  The wind makes _you_ feel free, you suppose… and kinda dramatic!  Like in an opening sequence to one of those sci-fi mystery investigation shows; yeah.  Like CSI or something.  You personally aren’t incredibly interested in that kind of stuff, but your sister, Jane, is uncomfortably enthusiastic about it sometimes.  You shudder, pushing away the caustic thought.

 

            After hopping on to your bike, you pedal off with ease and a small grin smacks itself on your face.  The sun’s rays are warm and comforting, and the soft autumn breeze complements them nicely, blowing through your hair smoothly.  You conclude it’s probably 100% safe to call today the perfect day of fall, if not for the sudden dismissal.

 

            Too soon, it seems, your bike ride comes to an end as you ride up to your home.  You’re quite surprised to see that your father isn’t home.  Where would he even be, shopping for shaving cream?  Hats?  Adult-like business stuff?  Or, perhaps, more of the Batterwitch’s gruesome confections?!

 

            “Bluh,” no.  You refuse to let that ruin your day.  Not ever.

 

            You type in the code for the garage and lead your bike inside, resting it against the right was as per usual.  As you open the door into the house, you close the garage door and enter your house.  All the lights are out… is nobody home?

 

            “Hello..? I’m home!” You shout aloud into the emptiness of your home.

 

            “…” There is no reply.  All you can really hear is your own breathing and the echo of the laundry machine running.  Wait…

 

            Where was Jane?  You run up the stairs and to her room only to find it as she left it this morning.  Huh.  That’s weird.  You find it safe to assume, again with assumptions, that she’s at a friend’s house or that you have arrived home faster than her.  She did like to take her leisurely time.  So this means…

 

            Yes.

            _Hell_ yes.

            Hell _fucking_ yes!

 

            Congrats Captain Obvious, you now are experiencing the glory of having the whole place to yourself!  This rarely happens, and when it does, there are so many things to decide between doing that you don’t typically get to actually _engage_ in them.  You sigh at the thought.  You suck at the overwhelming idea of actually deciding for yourself!  But what do teenage boys even do when they’re home alone in the first place?  Drink milk straight from the jug?  Pee with the bathroom door wide open?  Crank up the music and party like no tomorrow?  Watch por-

 

            _No_.  John, no.  _Bad_ John.  You look at the floor in shame and guilt as some unknown entity yells at you for even THINKING of doing such a thing.

 

            Even if the idea _was_ appealing to you, you wouldn’t want to get caught anyhow, you plead in your defense.  You can already hear the father-son lecture ringing in your ears and shake your head.

 

            With long strides, you make your way into your spacious room and toss your backpack onto your bed.  You plop down into the chair at your desk and flip open your laptop, the screen lighting up almost instantaneously.  A flashing tab at the bottom of the screen catches your attention and blinks between the phrases “Pesterchum” and “TG is pestering you!”  Other than forgetting to log out, this genuinely surprises you.  Dave hadn’t even logged on for almost an entire month!  You find yourself grinning wildly as you open the chat box and read his message.:

 

 

**\--turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 9:48 TODAY--**

TG: sup john

TG: im in oregon right now mostly cause shits up the metaphorical wall

TG: also im coming to get you cause im sure your derpy ass isnt at all aware of the situation were in as of at least a month ago

TG: message me as soon as you can dude

TG: also a helpful tidbit from yours truly

TG: they arent cases of cannibalism

TG: ok see ya in a few egderp

**\--turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 10:00 TODAY--**

            “He- what?!”  Good grief are you one confused Egbert right now!  Okay, John.  Let’s lay this out together, as writer and protagonist, shall we?

 

  1.        Dave was going to be here soon; to pick you up, more specifically.
  2.        You don’t have permission
  3.       Dad would worry for sure, that’s a 100% guarantee. (Imagine the trouble you would be in!)
  4.        NOT cannibalism and “shits up the metaphorical wall.”
  5.        If it’s not cannibalism, what would have provoked someone to kill and eat another person?



 

You decide quite easily, actually, to return Dave’s out-of-nowhere, rather demanding, messages of impending doom.

 

 

**\--ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 12:05 [RIGHT NOW]--**

EB: dave.

EB: what are you doing.

EB: did someone piss in your apple juice or something?

EB: seriously, what makes you think you can get away with taking me away from home for no reason?

EB: …

EB: dave?

EB: come ON, dude.

TG: yo egbert

TG: im kind of crossing state border right now

TG: so if you could ever so kindly calm your mammories

TG: i will get back to you

TG: probably eventually

EB: ugh fine.

TG: its hell on the border ill have you know

TG: everyone is going north to avoid this spreading plague and honestly

TG: i dont blame them

EB: plague..?

TG: yeah

TG: the dead are reanimating

TG: just like in the movies

TG: not your shitty ones but the actually decent cinema thats out there

EB: dave this is legitimately serious.

TG: right

TG: sorry

TG: I momentarily forgot that im trying to save my best bro

TG: forgive me satan for i have attempted kindness

EB: satan? really?

TG: hes all i got right now

EB: you can not be serious.

TG: where is god in this situation

TG: saying he actually is tangible

TG: would he let this happen to all of his oh so faithful followers

EB: bluh, forget it.

EB: so do you have an idea of when you will get here?

EB: i mean, since you are so adamant on the whole idea.

TG: definitely in a few hours at least

TG: that saying i can get past all of this border security bullshit in world record breaking time

TG: is there even a record for this

EB: so after 5 or 6 tonight would not be too farfetched?

TG: egbert you are no fun

EB: what should be fun about this, dave?

EB: the first time you message me in a MONTH, and it is saying that you are going to save me from this ‘plague’, something that is not even here yet!

EB: pretty serious if you ask me, dude.

TG: hey

TG: listen here you little shit

TG: theres a goddamn good explanation for me not talking to anyone

TG: youre the first person ive spoken to you hear me

EB: oh…

EB: how was i supposed to know that!

TG: okay just let me talk

EB: ugh, okay.

TG: i honestly dont know how you dont think this

TG: thing

TG: hasnt spread to washington yet

TG: the entireties of the east coast the south and the midwest have been completely overrun and infected

TG: not to mention most of the west coast

TG: your state is literally a cornered animal with nowhere to go

EB: shit, dave, it is here!

EB: that is why i am home so early.

TG: what went down at school

EB: this kid just

EB: full on attacked another student.

EB: there was a lot of blood, but no one really took it seriously.

EB: from what other students told me, other than the guy being badly injured, he got seriously ill and started having seizures and random outbursts.

TG: first of all

TG: what parent sends their kid to school ill like that

TG: not like it would have helped at all but still

EB: i guess?

EB: but what do i do?

EB: i am home alone and i have no idea where jane or my dad are!

TG: just wait for them

TG: or

TG: yknow

TG: me

TG: but i seriously have to go now

TG: message me if shit hits the fan okay

EB: alright. later dave.

TG: see ya

**\--turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 12:41 [RIGHT NOW]--**

**\--ectoBiologist [EB] became an idle chum!--**

            You sigh loudly in your desk chair and minimize the chat box.  Not knowing what to do next, you simply sit there, staring at your Ghostbusters screen-saver.  Slimer was staring right back at you, into your very soul, with that look of excitement plastered on his face and his mouth hanging agape in a huge grin.  You ask yourself a simple, four-word question:

 

            “What do I do?”  The words seem to ghost themselves quietly out of your mouth.  What _should_ you do?  Is it even reasonable to be worried at this point?  It probably wouldn’t be too unreasonable to be worried, considering the whole nation was infected except your general area at the moment.  More questions plague you incessantly as you debate a course of action to take until your family arrives home; if they do, that is.  You think it may be a good idea to lock all of the doors, if they aren’t already.  As you hop out of your desk chair, run downstairs, and begin checking doors, the darker outcomes of the situation begin to cloud your mind.  Finally, as you lock the back door, you make your way to the living room and sit down on the couch with a huff.  For the moment, the left end is completely yours; score!  You grab the remote for the television set and flick it on, instantly turning to the news station.  Hm, ABC World News seems good enough.

 

            The headline across the top of the screen reads, “The new BLACK DEATH.”  The reporter appears to be in a morgue of a hospital and wearing a mask over her mouth to prevent contamination or the spread of illness.  You lean forward in your spot, listening closely to what the people on screen are talking about.

 

            “So, Nurse Paint, how many patients have you received today?”  
           

“Oh, u-um, we have received 126 patients whom have fallen victim to this plague,” the small nurse speaks into the mic nervously.

 

“H-however, approximately 93 of those patients have since passed… I’m afraid the last 33 are soon to follow due to the lack of a cure,” she finishes quietly, looking down at the floor and taking random, quick glances at the shelf doors behind her.  The reporter displays a shocked expression visibly as the death toll is spoken and quickly asks another question after a small swallow.

 

“Oh my god, that’s terrible!  Were those just numbers from today or the whole week, or..?”  The reporter trails off in cold curiosity.  Nurse Paint pauses and swallows before replying.

 

“…that number is from a few hours ago when we started receiving calls, up until the current, um, moment…” she answers solemnly, her voice dripping with anxiety.  She was ominously quiet with her reply and you could feel the goose bumps multiplying on your arms.

 

“What..?”  You murmur aloud, your eyes widening with disbelief.  There was no way the death rate was 100%; it couldn’t be!  How could something kill so fast if it was being contained like it was?  The bodies were being kept in the morgue-

 

**_WHAM, DNN-DNN!!!_ **

****

You jerk your head back to the television screen, hearing bangs and screams from the women.  One of the metal vaults began to violently shake and tremble, new outward dents punctuating the metal.  Nurse Paint grabs for her radio talkie on her waist in panic of the situation and shouts into it, shakily holding the button.

 

“H-hello?!  It-it’s happening again!  …yes, that!  It’s alive again..!”  You hear a choked sob in her voice and hold your breath.  Seconds after she called for help, the metal door to the shelf bursts open, slamming into the neighboring chambers.  The reporter, Nurse Paint, and the cameraman scream, instantly fleeing out the door and shutting it.  Along the way, the cameraman drops his camera and it slams on the ground harshly, landing on its side.  Static blurs the screen only for a short blip, and picks up another slam on the metal door to the small body compartment.  A heavy, gross thud smacks on ground near the camera, causing you to shudder almost instantaneously.  You clench your eyes and cover your ears, torn between wanting to see and wanting to hide.

 

“H-hh-hrrkkk…”  The camera’s view remains still, but picks up a wheezy gurgle, loud and clear.  You open your eyes and watch the screen with a sense of fear and suspense, your senses on full voltage.  Curiosity tells you to watch further as well as a hidden source; it tells you to remain still and observe with detail.  It tells you to observe so you know what you’ll be encountering, so you can survive this disaster.  This is a learning experience.  Mind blank, your fingers intertwine with one another and place themselves right under your nose, your elbows resting on your knees.  Out of nowhere, a gray-tinged hand slams on the ground right in front of the camera, causing the device to jump a little.

 

“Ah-!”  You jump at the sudden movement.  Who made that noise?  The realization causes your hand to become acquainted with your own face; hard.

 

-John Egbert’s man points decreased by 20!-

 

            A curdled screech echoes throughout the room from the television and an extremely loud slam vibrates the recording video.  Wincing, you grab for the remote and press the power button desperately; enough was enough.  You stare blankly at the television, your legs folded in front of you.  The slamming hand and the terror in the eyes of the women repeat freshly in your mind, permanently imprinted.  Hell, you weren’t even there and you could feel the fear.  Snapping you out of your thoughts, you hear the front door slam and instantly tense.  What if they were here-

 

            “Son, what are you doing home so early?  And why do you look so utterly terrified?”  You blink and realize it was only your father arriving home from his errands.  Releasing a sigh of relief, you stand up and grunt from a well-needed stretch.  Can dad be a person to talk to about what you saw on TV or should you just lie to him?  Then again, how would he NOT know?  He reads the newspaper thoroughly, and you mean THOROUGHLY, everyday; not to mention he probably watches the news…

 

            “School was out early today for some reason; it was really sudden though,” you reply vaguely.  What else was there to say?

 

            “For what reason?  I am aware that today was not a scheduled early release.”  Dad opens the cupboard and grabs a coffee cup.  Walking over to join your father, you sit down at the island in your kitchen.

 

            “Some kid at school was really ill today or something.  He started biting a lot of other kids… the principal just announced that we were all to be sent home immediately,” you mumble quietly, feeling a bit nervous discussing the school incident.  Movement catches your eye and you swear your dad flinched; were you just seeing things?

 

            “…I see.  Well, we can only hope that student gets better soon, right?”  Dad turns around with a smile, taking a sip of his fresh made coffee.  All you can do is frown; you can tell he’s not saying what he really meant.  You open your mouth as to say something, but stop mid-breath; maybe you shouldn’t say anything.  You rest your head in your palms and release a large sigh.

 

            “Yeah, you’re right.”  A large, firm hand ruffles your hair affectionately, and you raise your head to look up at your father;  he’s smiling.  Laughing lightly, you pry his hand out of your already wild, thick hair.  With that, your father sits down at the table with the newspaper from this morning, opening it wide.  There he goes…

 

            “I’ll be in my room dad,” you call, running up the stairs to your room.  All you hear is a grunt in reply, then shut your bedroom door.  Your neatly made bed beckons you, and you give in without much of a struggle.  You jump onto your bed, lie down, and stare at the blank white ceiling hovering above you.  Your fingers twitch and grab at your sheets roughly.  It rips your mentality apart, knowing the only thing you can do is wait for things to get bad.  Would someone die..?  Would Dave even get here, or was he just giving you shit?  No, he wouldn’t do that; he seemed serious enough for, well, being him and all.  You chuckle at your deduction, a hand covering your mouth.

 

            A yawn tugs at your mouth, and you let it loose.  You palm your face and blink slowly, grogginess overwhelming you in large, hypnotic waves.  Glancing at the clock, you see that it’s nearly two in the afternoon and groan.  Maybe just a little bit of shut eye would be alright?  Sleep is pretty damn vital; you’re sure of it.  Closing your eyes, you allow yourself to drift off into unconsciousness, a land of no worries and peaceful, dark, nothingness.

 

-About two hours of *~timey-wimey~* shit later-

            “ ** _RAARGGHHAHRKK!!!_** ”

           

“Ow..!” A whine leaves your lips as you wake up in pain on the floor.  Looking up at your bed, the sheets are thrown astray in a large sea of fabric calamity.  You blink the fogginess out of your eyes and get up, almost falling again in the process.  Crashing and banging, animalistic grunting, growling, and hissing sounded from downstairs, outside your door.

 

  _Oh god, no, please..!_

 Running out of your room, you peer down into the living room/dining room area from the safety of the top stair.  Another man, with a pale and sickly, rotting appearance, is on top of your father biting at him, the click of his teeth as he bit at him crisp and audible.  Icy, sharp fear coursed through your body as you stood there frozen with wide eyes, glued to your current standing point.

 

_Move..!  Move dammit, Dad is getting killed!! Come on, DO SOMETHING!!_

You plead with your body, begging desperately, to move, to grab something and fight back, to save your father.  Helplessly, you watch as your father holds the zombie’s ferocious bite back with a rolling pin that was previously on the counter top.  Inevitably, the cooking instrument breaks, and the zombie bites again, with just as much vigor and power as the first.  It lands with a sickening crunch snapping through the air.  Blood from Dad’s shoulder spurts and gushes rapidly; the bite had just barely caught the nape of his neck.  Dad groans with pain, his body wracking harshly from shock and the sudden immense loss of blood.  You feel the heat of fresh tears run down your cheeks and you dash off to your closet, grabbing your sturdy, wooden baseball bat.  You return to the stairs and fly down as fast as you can and run into the kitchen, animal instinct now taking over.  Adrenaline pumps through your veins, you become fearless, and go in for the kill.  You go in to avenge your father with every hair on your body.

 

“Get off… of my DAD!!”  The creature jerks its head around with a guttural screech that seems to tear its vocal cords, the effort to make a sound clearly too much for the dead body to handle.  Your war cry reverberates throughout the room effortlessly, the inner fury fueling the power going into your voice and your swing.  Before the hasty ghoul can make another move, your bat meets its skull with brutal severity, infected blood almost instantaneously splattering all over the nearby cabinets, the floor, your father, your shirt.  The body stills momentarily before finally giving way and limply falling to the side.  You pant, the previous adrenaline wearing off.  The power in your death blow took more energy than you had thought.  Soon enough, you abandon the bat and arrive at your father’s side, sitting him up gently.  He grunts and coughs roughly, immediately resulting in your flinching.

 

“D-Dad..?”  The single word is choked out, forced.  Your chest feels tight and your muscles refuse to stop trembling.  “Are you okay..? It- It won’t stop bleeding..!”  Panic engulfs your vulnerable state, and you look around desperately.

 

“Dad, just wait, I’ll get some bandages and-“

 

“John, my son…”  Dad wheezes quietly, palming your cheek with his bloodied hand.  “You don’t… need to do that.  At this point it’s…” He hacks, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth.  “It’s futile…  I’m done for, son.”  His eyes glaze slightly, tears forming in the sky blue orbs, which clearly outweigh the small smile he forces upon his face.  Your throat feels dry and aches, throb after throb; eyes begin to burn from holding back the tears.  You shake your head in denial.

 

“No you aren’t, c’mon, I’ll take you to the couch,” you laugh weakly, grabbing your wooden bat and pulling up your father with you as you stand up.  He leans his full weight on you, relying heavily on your support.  Small step after step, you make it to the leather couch in your living room and guide him to lie down comfortably on it.  Hurriedly, you run off and up the stairs to the bathroom.  After gathering a deep red towel, you soak it in warm water and carry it back downstairs.

 

“Here, dad, this should help..!”  You dab the darkened, damp towel at your father’s wound on his neck and he hisses.  You quickly retract your hand away with the towel as he gasps for air; the wound seemed to bleed even more.

 

“I-I’m sorry!” Is that your voice that just cracked?

“John,” Dad demands, the strength and authority briefly returning to his voice.  You look down at the towel in your hands.

“Um… yeah?”

“Cease your foolishness at once.  Accept the reality of the situation!”

“What? Dad, I-“

“You saw the news, did you not?  I’ve been bitten… on my neck, no less.  Any moment now…” He closes his eyes and sighs, an empty smile possessing his lips.  The expression on Dad’s face makes it seem as if he’s at the pinnacle of peace, like he has fully accepted death; you want to smack that expression off of his face with all you’ve got.  _How can he give up so easily?  That’s not Dad…_

“We’ll figure out something though!  D-don’t even think about giving up yet..!”

“John, stop that.”

“Stop what, trying to help you?!” At this point you are yelling at your father, clenching the towel in your hands tightly with your knuckles turning white.  Your eyes are tightly squeezed shut, frustration boiling over.

“Son, I’m either going to turn, or you can help me,” he replies gravely, coughing and sputtering a small spurt of blood.  You jump at the request for help.

“How can I help already?”  The question proves difficult to answer as your wounded father grunts and hesitates giving a response.  Silence floods the room overwhelmingly.  “Dad..?”

“…you have to do away with me.”  Dad feels around the floor and grabs your bat, placing it in the vicinity of your grip.  You flinch away from the object, eyes wide.

 

_Do away with..?  Kill..?_

“Dad, no, I can’t!” You howl in refusal, your gut about to turn over with disgust.  The knot in your gut grows more painful, your breathing more labored as your muscles clench.  The very idea of doing away with your own dad, the one who took you in and raised you as his own; the one father who CHOSE you over any other child, makes you tremble and quake.  You can’t; you could never do such a horrible thing to your only father!  Why would he ask for death?  Questions overwhelm you at the dark request.

 

“John, just do it! I don’t want to risk turning and hurting you…  What kind of future is that for my brilliant son?”  His palm makes contact with your soft, jet black hair and weakly ruffles it encouragingly.

 

“But dad…” Burning tears threaten to spill, stinging your eyes.

“Please… My only request of you-“ He hacks violently and coughs, blood spilling onto the floor next to the couch.  “Time… is running… short…” he wheezes.  Blinking, a single tear runs down to your nose and you pick up your previously abandoned baseball bat.  With a long sniff, clearing your nose, you raise the bat and rest it on your shoulder lightly.  An exhale shudders out from your lips as you stall the deed further.  The bat trembles on your shoulder and you grip the instrument tighter.  Slowly, regretfully, you raise the bat above your head, looking down at your father’s weak, sickly gaze.

 

“Son… Thank you.  I love you so much…” the weak man breathes, closing his eyes with satisfaction.  Those words alone were enough to break the damn in your will; you could no longer hold back.

 

“D-dad- I love you too-!” Sobs annihilate your voice. “I’m sorry!!”  The bat rises one notch further.

 

_“Make me proud…”_

The event is over in mere seconds.  The floor is soaked with not only fresh blood, but a boy’s broken will.  Grief washes over the entire feel of the home and seeps through the cracks.  John collapses on the floor, down on his knees, and rests his upper half on his father’s unmoving body.  There is no pulse, no rise and fall of working lungs, and the heat of life is slowly leaving the vessel.  The boy sobs into his father’s shirt with no restraint, clinging to him desperately; this is the last time he will ever see him.

 

“Dad… I-I’m sorry… I…” John whimpers quietly into his father’s stained red shirt, failing to find any comfort what-so-ever.  “Why?!” He screams into the empty realms of the house, seeking unattainable answers.  Could this have been prevented?  A creak breaks the teen’s vigil and he jerks around, tears still staining his cheeks.  Much to his surprise, it is not foe, but friend; best friend.

 

“John… what the hell happened here?”

 

 

 

**-End of ACT 0 ACT 2-**

** ==> ACT 1 ACT 1 **

**Author's Note:**

> ...I'm sorry I don't know how to use the skins to change font and color of the pesterchum chat!! If I knew how to use it, I totally would... sorry guys!  
>  Thanks for reading :)


End file.
